Fides (Trust)
by Cyn Tolram
Summary: This is speculation on how Ian and Sara might develop trust after the last episode when time was turned back.


1 Chapter 1  
  
Cyntolram@hotmail.com  
  
12/9/01  
  
She had seen him before. Their first encounter of yesterday seemed harmless on the surface. She was drawn first to the Midtown Museum display case despite her being on duty. This was her first glimpse of the powerful weapon called the Witchblade that would soon possess her. It was as if an ancient voice had called her name. Only she could hear it.  
  
Then again, maybe he had heard it too.  
  
The mysterious dark stranger spoke, "Magnificent, isn't it?" She was only faintly aware of his presence until that moment. His voice was hypnotic. She caught a glimpse of his subtle smile in the reflection of the display case. Although his smile was alluring, she was baptized by fire with his smoldering brown eyes. His closely cropped beard seemed to frame and accentuate them. She had warned him to leave the premises thinking him to be a museum patron, wanting to protect him from the police action about to take place, yet her intuition told her he belonged there with her at this moment. The Witchblade would claim its next wielder and he would be witness to it.  
  
He seemed an apparition then. Just as he was now, walking down the street from the Rialto Theatre the day after the museum shootout. His body was a contradiction, moving with the power and grace of a predator, yet with a demeanor of servitude. His eyes cast downward, avoiding direct contact with others on the street. He seemed to relish his anonymity, depended on it.  
  
For some inexplicable reason, Sara Pezzini and her partner Danny Woo, homicide detectives for the New York Police Department, had just uncharacteristically opted to pass on entering the old Rialto after Tommy Gallo had been seen at the premises. Tommy was one of the rising stars of the local criminal element. Sara had never backed away from a conflict, but she knew she would have a later opportunity to question him on her own turf regarding the death of her childhood friend Maria. She had learned to trust her instincts but the foreboding feeling of the Rialto was more primal. She would abdicate this once. She and Danny were about to drive away from the theatre when she caught a glimpse of Mr. Mysterioso.  
  
He had stepped out of the theatre within 20 minutes of Tommy Gallo's entrance. He seemed distracted as he wandered down the busy street, away from Sara and Danny.  
  
"Park the car, Danny. Then back me up. I see a familiar face from the museum yesterday." With that, she was off on foot, Danny calling after her.  
  
Her target ambled along, seemingly deep in thought and unaware of her presence. Without looking up, he navigated the busy street as if by sonar. His long, dark wavy hair was worn loose today and was gently stroked by a faint breeze as he walked. He wore a long dark gray coat over a basic black ensemble. His boots seemed to be of army issue and worn unlaced. Sara let her mind wander. She did not believe in coincidences. Who was this guy? What did he have to do with Tommy Gallo? Gallo was not even remotely close to this guy's league. Her instincts told her something else. This guy was far more dangerous than Gallo could ever hope to be.  
  
She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she had not noticed her target had stopped dead in his tracks, in the middle of the sidewalk. He did not turn around. Sara had gotten too close. She had drifted to within a block and a half of him. Trying to redeem herself and her surveillance techniques, she quickly ducked into a doorway. She held her breath and counted a slow 20 seconds. She had hoped to catch some assistance from Danny but he was not in sight. As she emerged from her hiding place, her prey was no longer there. She walked briskly to the corner she had last seen him, looking down the side streets. Just as she had come to believe she had lost him, she felt the strange sensation of being watched herself.  
  
Turning slowly around, as if he had called her name, she caught sight of him at a table of a small sidewalk bistro. His long legs were crossed at the ankles and were sprawled out from beneath the small table for two. His arms lay across his broad chest. The smug expression on his face reminded her of an old tomcat as it played with its next meal. She reluctantly crossed the street toward him.  
  
All the way there, she wanted desperately to say something clever to break the ice of this most embarrassing moment. Instead, it was he who spoke first.  
  
"I've taken the liberty of ordering you your favorite, Sara.a cappuccino with cinnamon. I hope you do not think me too forward." He stood to pull back the seat across from him. She did not want to know how he knew about her favorite coffee. She slowly seated herself.  
  
"You have me at a disadvantage. You seem to know me and my java preferences, but I know nothing of you." She hinted.  
  
"Patience, dear Sara. Have patience. All will be known soon enough." He responded coyly.  
  
A young waiter delivered the cappuccino just as ordered along with a second selection, both in Styrofoam containers with lids. Without taking his eyes off Sara, he thanked the server, gave him a twenty-dollar bill, asking him to keep the change.  
  
"I noticed you leaving the Rialto Theatre just now." She questioned.  
  
"Is that a crime, Sara? If so, you won't catch me doing it again. After all, I am a law abiding citizen." He smiled sheepishly.  
  
"I think the operative word is 'catch you'. You seem to have eyes in the back of your head." She coaxed.  
  
"Maybe you were a little off your game today, Sara? You seem distracted." Looking down at her wrist and the new bracelet she covered with her jacket, he continued, "Nice bracelet. It becomes you." He smiled at the significance of his words, maybe a private joke.  
  
"It's the first time I have had jewelry choose me." She responded warily. "Don't change the subject, Austin Powers, Man of Mystery, why were you at the Rialto this morning?"  
  
He leaned into the small table and closer to Sara. His gloved hands dangerously close to hers. A slight smirk appeared on his face. "I was at the Rialto today conveying a message from my employer to a prospective buyer of the old theatre. I assure you, very legitimate." He laid his gloved hand over his heart in mock sincerity.  
  
Sara sipped at her cappuccino slowly, not taking her eyes off him. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to concentrate on her line of questioning looking into his eyes, the color of rich mocha. Just then, she heard a nearby cell phone ring. He retrieved it from his coat pocket and flipped the cover.  
  
"Yes." He listened for a moment, not taking his eyes from her. "I can be there in 30 minutes.we can talk about it then." Brief and to the point, he returned the phone to his pocket.  
  
"I must go now, Sara, but please stay and enjoy your coffee. You will notice I had not touched my own. It is for your partner. He is trying to act very nonchalant across the street, but I suspect he is getting quite bored." Sara turned toward where his eyes led her. Sure enough, Danny was browsing a nearby bookstore, casting furtive glances their way.  
  
"I hope we will meet again, Sara." He said with a slight bow of his head.  
  
"You can count on it." She replied to herself as he disappeared quickly around the corner. She knew he would not let her follow him this time. It was pointless to try. She was also just as certain their paths would cross again. She made a mental note to find out who owned the Rialto Theatre.  
  
  
  
2 Chapter 2  
  
The next morning, Danny had beaten Sara to work and gotten a jump on the computer, researching the ownership of the Rialto Theatre. He found several dummy real estate companies before he discovered the true ownership of the theatre was a Real Estate Division of Vorschlag Industries. Behind Vorschlag was Kenneth Irons, an eccentric billionaire with his hands in everything from media holdings to real estate to biotech development and advanced genetics research. As unsavory as it appeared, it was rumored Irons made his money the old fashioned way, by illegal arms trade. He was a collector of people, rare artwork, and ancient weaponry.  
  
As Sara was on her second cup of coffee, she poured over the dossier committing the key facts to memory. Danny tossed another thin folder on her desk.  
  
"I think I found your mystery man." Danny raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to read the brief summary. " I guess Mr. Tall, Dark, and Hazelnut likes to keep a low profile."  
  
Sara noticed there were only a few photos of her elusive Mr. Coffee. He was always in the background near Irons and the photo quality was never good. The information contained in the file was so brief, she almost missed it all together. He was linked to Irons as a possible bodyguard, trained in martial arts and weaponry, and also served in the U.S. Special Forces under a covert ops group called the Black Dragons. Little was known of him, but she did find his name.  
  
"Ian Nottingham. Gotcha, Mr. Starbuck. Good work, Danny." She smiled, matching him pun for pun.  
  
"I think you better quit with the coffee puns before I give you one lump or two." He teased.  
  
"I guess you're right, better latte than never." They both groaned.  
  
Sara and Danny obtained directions to the Irons Estate. It was a most impressive compound, looking more like a fortress than a home. Armed guards with dogs patrolled the grounds. The latest security technology was in place, clearly sending a message to the world, 'Enter at your own risk'. Sara had called to make an appointment with Kenneth Irons, who seemed delighted to 'spare a few moments' for her. He seemed to know who she was before she had explained the purpose for her and Danny's visit.  
  
"I haven't been creeped out like this since I saw Patrick Swayze in a dress." She commented as they drove through the last guard post before getting to the front door. "I wonder if we are going to get out of here to beat 5 o'clock traffic."  
  
They were greeted by a somber-looking fellow who led them down a long corridor filled with exquisite art pieces and various paintings and tapestries. The subject matter seemed to be mostly war and weaponry, of some kind. From the front of the mansion, it had been hard to determine how large the estate was and the size of the living quarters. It would have taken at least a week to walk the place, presuming they had a map for directions. There appeared to be more people covering the grounds than were in the great expanse of the mansion. They were led to the end of the hallway to a pair of 12-foot doors that opened to a most impressive office space. The office décor was very spartan, modern and cold, a sharp contrast to the rest of the manor house they had seen so far. There were flat-screen security television monitors placed strategically across the room with control panels determining the view. The high tech lighting was indirect and made the room appear dark. Being interior to the rest of the property, the room appeared to have the capability of a defense bunker, the last bastion of safety should the estate come under siege. Kenneth Irons stood leaning against the front of the desk. Sara had recognized him from his dossier. He was quite tall, in excess of Ian's 6'2" frame, and possessed Nordic good looks. His straight blond hair was brushed back from his face, emphasizing his pale blue eyes. His eye color reminded Sara of a wolf she had a close encounter with on a camping trip in Northern Michigan. He was wearing a charcoal gray suit that she knew cost more than a month's salary for both her and Danny.  
  
"Ms. Pezzini. How nice to meet you." Irons extended his hand, enclosing both his hands over hers.  
  
"Mr. Irons. This is my partner, Detective Danny Woo." Irons nodded but did not take his eyes off Sara.  
  
"Please make yourselves comfortable. " He directed them to a seating area to the left of the desk. "Can I get you anything?"  
  
"No, thank you." Sara responded. Danny shook his head just in case someone cared.  
  
"What can I do for you, Ms. Pezzini." Irons asked. Sara felt Danny shift in his chair. He was getting annoyed with being ignored.  
  
"In the course of our investigation of a homicide, your name came up in association with the Rialto Theatre." Sara carefully watched his reaction. She speculated Irons was quite a poker player. "Specifically, it seems one of your employees was seen leaving the theater after one of our suspects, Tommy Gallo, had entered the premises. This employee was also seen at the Midtown Museum just prior to a police shootout there.again part of this same investigation."  
  
A moment of silence passed. Irons seemed more interested in Sara's new bracelet than her line of questioning. "You must be referring to Ian. Ian Nottingham. Yes, I was aware of his activities. He was under my direct orders."  
  
"Really. Could you explain further, Mr. Irons?" She asked.  
  
"Ian had been at the museum to make sure the display on ancient weaponry was set up properly. The pieces displayed were mine. After the shootout in the museum, it seems the Witchblade bracelet is still missing." His eyes did not leave hers. Neither Irons nor Sara wanted to discuss the bracelet in front of Danny. He wanted to send her a message. They exchanged conspiratorial glances, nothing more. Sara knew she had a future date with Irons to discuss the bracelet that had chosen her.  
  
"I had also asked Ian to extend a buying invitation to Mr. Gallo for the old Rialto. I am entertaining such offers." Irons stated.  
  
"Mr. Gallo has been linked to some questionable and possibly criminal activities. Do you have any other dealings with Tommy Gallo, Mr. Irons?" She pressed.  
  
"My business interests are too numerous for me to recall every conversation or transaction. You would have to be more specific, Ms. Pezzini."  
  
"The next time we talk about this, I plan on being very specific, Mr. Irons." She answered coyly. "Would it be possible to see Mr. Nottingham?"  
  
Irons looked at his watch, hesitated, then said, "I believe we can still catch him in the War Room. He usually works out this time of afternoon. Follow me."  
  
Danny and Sara followed Irons out of the office and down another long corridor to the left of the office entrance. The door they entered next was much more normal in size, but Sara could hear the clanging of metal against metal. Irons led them through the door to a small room with bleacher seats facing a window, with a view to the larger room just on the other side. It appeared to be separated by a 2-way mirror. Sara was astonished by what she saw. Along the walls of the larger room, called the War Room by Irons, were various kinds of ancient, medieval weaponry. There were spears, daggers, long swords, shields, and various types of whips. Two sets of medieval armor were standing in the far corners.  
  
The collection of weaponry alone was most impressive, but not half as amazing as the war being waged within the room. The sounds emanating from the chamber seemed to transport Sara back to another time, a time not unfamiliar to her. Ian was up against three other swordsmen, using a long sword in two-handed fashion. Sweat was glistening from the long sinews of his arms and along his expansive chest. His hair was pulled back which only accentuated the broadness of his shoulders. He wore only loose fitting black pants with a sash-like belt knotted around his slim and well- muscled abdomen. Most impressive, Sara thought.  
  
"He is magnificent, isn't he? He is truly my finest possession." Irons added with pride.  
  
"Your possession? Have you told him that? He doesn't strike me as someone willing to be owned." Sara responded without taking her eyes off Nottingham.  
  
"Ian and I go a long way back, Sara. I hope I may call you Sara." Not waiting for an answer, Irons continued. "He is the product of the best training money can buy, physical abilities superior to most human beings compliments of enhanced genetics, but he possesses something money cannot buy."  
  
" It surprises me you recognize something beyond price, Mr. Irons." Sara replied.  
  
"Loyalty, Sara. Ian is loyal to me. He was the pick of the litter, as it were." Irons added the last part to get a rise out of Sara.  
  
"Yes, but is he house broken?" Sara asked rhetorically. Danny suppressed a snicker by clearing his throat.  
  
"Ian is particularly interested in the historical significance of European Medieval Martial Arts. He has studied and resurrected the combat skills, philosophies, and principles of this era. He is my Poet Warrior." Irons continued.  
  
Ian's movements were poetry, so fluid and effortless, even as he wielded this heavy weapon. His opponents could not even remotely match his skill level. Sara noticed the three swordsmen wore protective gear, but Nottingham was without shielding. He certainly was confident in his own abilities. He vanquished the opposition, leaving them winded outside of a painted circle on the floor of the workout area.  
  
"No one can match his skill level, I'm afraid." Irons boasted. "I surround myself with the very best, Sara."  
  
Ignoring Irons' arrogance, Sara asked. "Poet Warrior? What is that?"  
  
"His mind was developed with the same enthusiasm as his most extraordinary body. He is quite intelligent and well read."  
  
Sara had remembered reading about Irons' many and varied sexual appetites. There were photos of some of his known sexual partners, including photos of younger men. She wondered about the relationship with Nottingham.  
  
"So are we going to get a chance to speak with your boyfriend?"  
  
"Unfortunately, Ian is not in my employ for those services. Although I am sure he would be quite unforgettable if he were."  
  
While Sara and Irons continued their verbal sparing in the smaller room, Ian had switched weapons to daggers and spears. His focus centered on an imaginary foe only he could envision. His eye hand coordination was phenomenal and his speed and agility was superior to anyone she had seen. If there were to be a new category at the summer Olympic Games, like weapons gymnastics, Nottingham would be 'King of the World'. He could dive and roll to any position while throwing a dagger or spear with pinpoint accuracy into the head or heart of the targeted victims strategically located in various spots in the room.  
  
Irons spoke into a wall-mounted speaker. "Nottingham. Please make yourself presentable. We have quests." With that, Irons opened a door into the workout area. Ian was toweling himself off and was only slightly winded. His recuperative powers were amazing. He seemed to have been expecting her.  
  
"It is good to see you again, Sara. Danny." He nodded. He cast his eyes downward and assumed a military resting position in deference to Irons. "What do you require, Master?"  
  
"Master?" She asked, expecting an answer from Ian. Irons spoke up instead.  
  
"Yes, Sara. As I had said, Ian is loyal to a fault. He would do anything I ask of him."  
  
With this, Irons stepped to a nearby wall and removed a knotted leather whip called the cat-o-nine-tails. This whip appeared to have been modified to have metal shavings knotted into some of its nine tails. He walked up quietly behind Nottingham who did not flinch or make a sound when Irons cut into the skin of his back with five hard flogging strokes. Blood splattered across Irons expensive suit. The only movement from Ian was pain registering across his beautiful, mocha-colored eyes. His agony was quickly replaced with contempt after his unwarranted punishment was concluded. Sara could see the disdain for Irons. Nottingham clinched his jaw, determined to continue the charade.  
  
"Ms. Pezzini. I am afraid I must be a rude host and depart now for another obligation. Ian will answer all your questions." Irons made a point to grab Sara's bejeweled hand, glanced down to her wrist, then into her eyes before he departed the room.  
  
"Is he always that charming?" Sara asked Ian, not expecting an answer.  
  
Ever the politically correct slave, Nottingham ignored her question. "What can I do for you, Sara?"  
  
"You can first get yourself some medical attention." She walked around Ian to get a better look at the gashes on his back. "You may need some stitches put on a couple of the worst cuts." Danny grimaced beside her.  
  
"I appreciate your concern, but the sooner we can conclude our business, the sooner I can get cleaned up." He replied. Sara could see the pain being suppressed in his eyes.  
  
"I just need to corroborate the facts we have disclosed so far on a case. Why were you at the Midtown Museum the other day before the shootout?" She pressed. Verifying and confirming information was a big part of any thorough police investigation.  
  
Ian briefly closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "My Master asked me to check on the museum display since the articles being presented were from his private collection of ancient weaponry. I have a particular fondness for the Witchblade, where I had encountered you."  
  
"And why were you at the Rialto yesterday? Refresh my memory." She asked.  
  
"To convey to Tommy Gallo that Mr. Irons was interested in selling the theatre. That is all." Nottingham's breaths were jagged in his attempt to immobilize his shoulders and ribcage. "If you were so interested in investigating Mr. Gallo, why did you not come into the theatre, Sara?"  
  
The look in his eyes conveyed he already knew the answer. Sara had not even fully understood her motivation that day either. She had felt a terrible foreboding and she had trusted her instincts. Beyond that, she could not explain it.  
  
"I wanted to question him on my own turf, Nottingham." She added, hoping to divert his attention.  
  
"Or could it be you were afraid of initiating a chain of events you could not stop?" Nottingham was clearly sending a message to Sara, one she could not ignore. He knew, but how? "It was more than just déjà vu, wasn't it Sara."  
  
Looking into his troubled eyes, she flashed to images of Danny dying on stage at the Rialto. She felt the pain of loosing her partner. Breaking eye contact with Nottingham stopped the disturbing images. Danny stood next to his partner totally confused by the direction this conversation had turned.  
  
"Look Sara. We need to talk." It was difficult for him to concentrate with his own blood dripping down his back. Droplets of his sweat were stinging the open wounds. His shoulders were on fire. He glanced briefly at Danny, knowing Sara would understand their next encounter should be private. "If you have a pen, I'd like to give you my cell phone number. Call me if you can meet me later tonight. We must talk.and soon."  
  
Danny was quick to provide a small notebook and pen from his jacket pocket. Ian nodded slightly and jotted down the number, returning them to Sara. Again he was sending a clear message that they should meet alone.  
  
"Are you sure you are going to feel up to it?" Sara asked.  
  
"Probably not, but it must happen." Cryptically, he added. "No one is safe, Sara. We must shield ourselves from the chain of events that could ultimately lead to our own destruction." He closed his eyes to quell the pain. "You and I are the key. Trust is difficult.for both of us.yet necessary."  
  
Danny and Sara watched Nottingham leave the room. "Well what the hell was that all about?" Danny asked. "Damn, you need a score card around here."  
  
"I guess I have a date later." She smirked.  
  
"You are not thinking of going alone.no way." Danny added stubbornly.  
  
"I haven't needed a chaperone since high school, Danny. Besides, how do you expect me to get to first base with Nottingham with you tagging along." She smiled.  
  
"Were you not paying attention, Pez. The man has super human speed and agility. By the time you think you've gotten to first base, he'll be rounding home.TWICE." He scolded.  
  
Sara patted Danny on his cheek. "You worry too much, Mom." With that, they left the war room and proceeded to their car. Sara was glad Danny would be driving. She had a lot to think about.  
  
3 Chapter 3  
  
Sara worked at the station house until just after six. Danny had left thirty minutes ahead of her, but not without some words of wisdom on how to handle Nottingham if he gets out of hand. Sara listened half-heartedly knowing enough about Nottingham that he would continue to be as gallant as a knight-errant. She called the cell phone number he had provided. After three rings, he answered.  
  
"Wha.Yea?" He sounded groggy as if he had just awakened. His breathing into the phone seemed very familiar.  
  
"Nottingham? Are you alright?" She asked.  
  
"Sara?" There was a pause. "What time.Is it time? Hell, what day is it?"  
  
"Did I wake you? I'm sorry. We can do this another time." She offered.  
  
"No.No. Just let me clear the fog in my brain." There was a rustle of material in the background. Nottingham was putting forth a futile effort to make himself vertical. The groan of pain reminded Sara of Irons' demonstration of Nottingham's loyalty. His back would be stiff and sore by now. "When can we get together? Where?"  
  
"I think we need privacy and you are probably not going to feel up to a public appearance. If you promise to behave yourself, I would prefer we meet at my apartment. Have you eaten?" She asked.  
  
"No.I'm not sure how hungry I'll be. I've taken some pain medication.. just a little groggy." He sighed.  
  
"Good. Then I'm sure I can handle you if you can't control yourself." She said with a smile in her voice.  
  
"Sara.I'm sure I will let you handle me."  
  
"Do you like Thai food?" She asked.  
  
"Hot and spicy.(Yawn). I like it." His voice sounded deliciously intimate. She had to remind herself that he was half-asleep. It was hard not to read something more into the familiarity of his voice.  
  
"I'll see you at eight." She gave him the directions to her apartment but it seemed he was very familiar with the area, as if he had been there before. She thought it odd but dismissed it.  
  
Sara would have plenty of time to order the take-out for delivery, shower, and quickly clean up her place before he got there. Why was she this nervous? It's not as if this were a date, she thought. Yet, she found herself looking forward to seeing him, planning what she would wear. He was so different from her. The element of danger to this rendezvous did not go unnoticed by Sara. She justified her zealousness by persuading herself she was going to interrogate him tonight, for work purposes. Even she saw the implausibility in that reasoning. She wanted to learn more about this enigmatic man. It was ironic that a police detective would find this assassin of interest, not unlike the proverbial moth flying too closely to the flame. There was a fine line between her personal fascination with Ian as a man and her professional concern with Nottingham, the henchman of Kenneth Irons. She hoped she would be strong enough to tell the difference.  
  
She hurried home and starting picking up the week's worth of newspapers, bills, and assorted other clutter that accumulates and amasses in one's own personal space. She showered quickly and decided on jeans and a heavy knitted ivory sweater, then pulled her long brown hair back from her face with a nice barrette. The ivory sweater accentuated her creamy complexion and made it difficult to determine if her large, almond-shaped eyes were blue or green. She lit some candles, set the table with her best plates and linens then started her favorite mix of CDs.  
  
At ten minutes before eight, her apartment buzzer sounded. She thought it was the delivery person, but was surprised to hear Nottingham's voice on the speaker. "Are you decent?" He asked seductively. She activated the front door release and said, "Are you? Come on up." She only had time to take a quick look in a mirror located by the front door when she heard the subtle knock. As she opened the door, he slowly raised his chin from his customary downward glance to look into her eyes. The animal magnetism she felt was off the scale. She suddenly regretted her decision to be alone with him in her apartment, concerned more for her lack of self-control than his.  
  
From behind his back, he presented her with a bottle of white wine. "Hey, Sara."  
  
"Hey, Nottingham. Come in. Can I take your coat?" She set the wine down on her kitchen counter before grabbing his heavy, black wool coat from his shoulders. He tried to suppress a moan as he shrugged out of his garment. She caught his grimace reflected in the mirror on the wall. "How is your back?"  
  
"Better. The painkiller is helping. I'll be fine." He said distractedly.  
  
He entered the living area of her apartment, walking toward the windows on the opposite wall. Slowly he paced the room as if assessing security of the perimeter or perhaps looking for the best escape route. His eyes were ever vigilant, alert to every detail with his mind evaluating his exposure. She guessed old habits were hard to break. He was dressed in basic black, his favorite color she presumed. He wore a black shirt buttoned in front and worn loose probably to allow him to remove it with the least amount of pain. The unconfined shirt accentuated the broadness of his shoulders yet did not disguise the trimness of his waist. He had not yet removed the gloves from his hands, a warning of his wariness. He reminded her of a caged tiger pacing a cell he did not belong.  
  
"You have a nice place, Sara." He said quietly.  
  
"Thanks. The food has not arrived yet. I expect them anytime. Can I get you something to drink?" She asked.  
  
"I'll take a bit of wine if you don't mind.just a half glass. It is one of my favorites." He replied.  
  
Nottingham picked up a framed photo from a bookshelf. As inhospitable as it sounded, Sara had hoped to retrieve some fingerprints from her guest. It was the least he could do to repay her graciousness. Old habits were hard to break for her as well. The skills required for her to be a good detective would not allow her to accept the vagueness of Nottingham's background data that Danny had uncovered earlier in the day. She wanted to know more. Her calculating dinner companion may not let his guard down long enough for her to be successful, but she would be patient. As she opened the wine and retrieved glasses, he asked, "Do you play, Sara?" At first, she thought he wasn't wasting any time by the flirtatious query, but realized after some embarrassment that he was pointing to an acoustic guitar leaning against the wall.  
  
"That was Maria's, my friend that died. She was trying to teach me to play. I was hopeless. Now it just reminds me of her." She smiled warmly.  
  
"I am sorry about your friend. Were you close?" He continued.  
  
"We had been best friends since we were kids in first grade. She knew the real me, that's for sure. I am going to miss her." She added, "How about you, Nottingham? Ever had a friend since childhood?"  
  
Nottingham had sat on the edge of her sofa and was busy tuning the guitar. She could not have planned it better if she had tried. He had removed his leather gloves and was busy placing his sweet prints over the musical instrument. The evening was already a triumphant success for Sara with this unforced error on Nottingham's part. By tomorrow, she hoped to know more about her evasive quarry.  
  
Nottingham listened intently to every note, closing his eyes to improve his concentration.  
  
"Never. I've been in training to be a warrior my whole life. Even my earliest memories as a child were centered around my instruction." He stated this so matter-of-factly, as if this were normal. She poured the wine and set his glass on the coffee table near him.  
  
"Do you mean to tell me.? You can't mean you were in training from childhood." She asked incredulously.  
  
He looked up from the guitar; his eyes bore unabashedly into hers. "It's all I have ever wanted to be." He answered, and continued tuning the guitar.  
  
Once he was satisfied the instrument was properly adjusted; he began to play some chords, then a bit of melody. He seemed to listen intently to the music playing faintly in the background on her CD player. It was one of her favorite CDs by Eva Cassidy called Songbird. She realized he was accompanying the guitar music in the background of the song, playing in perfect harmony to the music. The Poet Warrior had quite an ear, and the rest of him wasn't bad either. He closed his eyes to listen and pick out the notes as if he were totally alone. Sara had the distinct impression that Ian had more of a poet side to his nature than she had originally given him credit. She found herself spellbound by his intuitive feel for the song and equally as disappointed when the melody ended.  
  
"That is a beautiful song. Her voice is so.haunting and soulful. Who sings it?" He asked. She told him the singer's name just as the buzzer rang at her front door.  
  
"Ah, ha. Sustenance has arrived. I hope you like Shrimp Pad Thai and spring rolls." She announced.  
  
She confirmed the food delivery and let the young man enter her building. Ian beat her to the door with money for their dinner, but not before slipping on his gloves and wiping down the guitar for prints with his handkerchief. Nottingham was quick to observe the disappointment Sara could not hide in her eyes when she noticed what he was doing.  
  
"I never give my prints on the first date, Sara. A guy likes to keep some element of mystery otherwise you wouldn't respect me in the morning." He smiled coyly. She would not want to play a game of chess with him. She was certain he would have calculated a dozen plays in advance, anticipating her every move.  
  
She begrudgingly retrieved the takeout bags from Nottingham and poured the noodles into a larger bowl, presenting the spring rolls on one of her nicer serving trays. Nottingham poured more wine as they sat down together at her nook table. The music of Eva Cassidy filled the room as the lit candles on the table flickered across his face. The wine was beginning to open her mind to all sorts of possibilities for the evening. Her guest seemed content to let her find the next words spoken between them. There was an inner stillness to him refined from years of isolation and detachment. It had helped him survive an otherwise cruel upbringing for a child. Most people would try to fill the void in the conversation. Nottingham had developed the patience to let the inevitable happen. There was art in observation. It was obvious he had been content with only himself for company for most of his life. His training had been his focus. Her instincts told her that tonight he was reaching out to her, taking a risk his employer would not approve.  
  
The glow of the candles reflected and glistened off his mocha brown eyes. Part of her wanted to catch a glimpse of the child within this man. It was a quality present in everyone if you looked hard enough. In some, that quality was easier to find. How Nottingham had led his life thus far made it difficult to discover his inner child since, by his own admission, he was not permitted a childhood. Yet Sara had detected a genuine innocence in Ian that she would not have thought possible. It was elusive but ever present to some degree. He seemed almost shy and unsure of himself in this intimate setting. Nottingham's gallantry and purity of heart was a sharp contrast to the image she had in her mind of Iron's enslaved lethal weapon. The question remained, if Nottingham was indeed a dark angel, was he more dark than angel?  
  
"Tell me about your relationship with Kenneth Irons. He seemed to take pleasure in beating you today." She paused just enough to see the change in his eyes. "I know you are skilled enough to defend yourself. Why did you take his abuse?"  
  
Nottingham looked through the window nearest the table into the darkness beyond. He gazed at his own reflection by candlelight. The window was a symbol of Nottingham himself. Others may see the reflection on the outside but an overpowering and pervasive darkness lay within. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts on the subject. He was determined to trust this woman and was not accustomed to sharing such private thoughts with anyone, especially about Irons.  
  
"I have no memories of a mother or a father, Sara. Irons is the closest thing I have to a father." He began as he continued to stare out the window. "When I was younger, I thought his abusive nature was done out of concern for me.to make sure I would survive any hardship.to make me as tough as I could be. Only recently have I come to see the cruelty in his eyes and in his heart.making me have doubts about my past.and my future."  
  
"The past is the past, Nottingham, but you can control how you live your future." She offered.  
  
"Can you, Sara? Control your future, I mean. I am not as sure as you." His eyes met hers.  
  
"Something in me was sure my partner Danny's future was changed when we walked away from the Rialto Theatre instead of taking Gallo into custody. I don't claim to understand it, but I am pretty sure of that." She added, taking a sip of wine to break the spell of the moment.  
  
Nottingham pondered her last statement before speaking. "I think you are right, Sara. Maybe I have more control over my future than I had thought." He dug into his rice noodles. "Mmmm.very good. I will have to get your recipe." He smiled.  
  
"Seven digits...that's all the recipe I need." She joked. That remark earned her a broader smile from him. "You should smile more often." Her comment was out before she could stop herself. He looked away in embarrassment. "You know, for a guy that looks the way you do, you seem so unsure of yourself around a woman." There, it was out. She wanted to see how he would field that statement.  
  
He looked at her in amazement, then away again. She finally found a subject she could have the advantage and was enjoying every minute of it. He cleared his throat nervously with his eyes cast downward. "I told you, Sara. I have been in training my whole life. I have not had time for women."  
  
"No way, Nottingham. No way you can look the way you do.No way. And to think Danny was worried about me being alone with you tonight. I think he should have been more worried for you." They stared at one another, watching for a reaction, before they simultaneously burst into laughter.  
  
"Ow.Ow.Don't make me laugh, Sara. It still hurts." Nottingham grimaced.  
  
"Here, have some more wine, said the spider to the fly." She chuckled triumphantly as she filled his glass.  
  
They continued eating their meal, glancing at each other with unspoken amusement. After finishing, Nottingham helped her clear the table and clean up. It struck her as funny to see him in the kitchen. His gloves a constant reminder of who and what he was. He looked able-bodied enough but her image of him did not include domestic bliss.  
  
"Here, Nottingham. I don't want to see you soil your clothes." She pulled an apron from her pantry and helped him into it, making sure to tie it loosely around his waist. It gave her an excuse to touch him. He let her dress him into the 'Kiss the Cook' apron.  
  
"If I am going to wear this ridiculous attire, then you at least have to do what it says." He challenged.  
  
She raised an eyebrow and moved closer to him. He kept his distance, clearly not wanting to make the first move. She stood on tiptoe, extending her hands to his face to pull his lips closer to hers. His lips were warm and tasted deliciously like spicy Thai noodles. She was ready for another helping. Nottingham seemed to lose himself in the tenderness of the moment.  
  
"I would wear this all day if it meant we could do this again." He whispered.  
  
"I don't think that would do much for your image, Nottingham." They both found the humor in her observation.  
  
"Maybe not, but perhaps I could start my own cooking show on cable." He was quick to add.  
  
"What would you call it? Nottingham's Killer Recipes?" She bantered. He smiled politely but grew quiet as he removed the apron and withdrew to her living room, putting more space between them than her words had just accomplished. Perhaps she had gone too far. She followed and chose a seat near him on the sofa.  
  
"Sara, it is true I have protected the interests of my master without fail, but I do not see myself as an indiscriminate, cold-hearted killer. It has been said that some men are alive simply because it is against the law to kill them. I don't believe the law should stand in the way of justice in all cases." He defended himself.  
  
"You are saying this to an officer of the court. I enforce the law in all cases. Your master appears to feel he is above the law." She responded, ignoring the culpability of Nottingham's own actions.  
  
He smiled at her willingness to overlook his responsibility in all this. "You are being kind to ignore my being the instrument of Iron's form of justice." He sipped at the remaining wine in his glass. He looked into her eyes as if trying to determine if he could trust her and delve deeper into the subject. Just as she had easily seen his innocence before, his lethal nature was palpable, bubbling hot beneath a placid surface. Underneath the cool and detached exterior, Nottingham had to contend with a daily struggle between the commands of his master and his own sense of good and evil, right and wrong. Despite a lifetime of Iron's negative influence to the contrary, Nottingham had quietly defied Irons and developed his own integrity and strength of character in a world where such qualities were admonished and beaten out of a lessor person.  
  
"Sara.I serve two masters. You are aware of my affiliation with Kenneth Irons, but I also serve the wielder of the Witchblade." He let Sara digest that thought before continuing.  
  
"Just say the word and we can be insep.." He stopped mid sentence as if recalling a vivid memory. He looked for answers in her eyes that were not forthcoming, then took a deep breath.  
  
"Just another déjà vu moment, Sara. I have had a few of those lately." As he spoke and gazed into her eyes, the Witchblade on her wrist began to swirl and cast off color. Images forced their way into Sara's psyche. Reflections of the last time Nottingham had said, "Just say the word and we can be inseparable." She broke off the connection between them, but not before seeing both of them in a crowded police station, claiming his personal belongings after being detained overnight for questioning. He or the Witchblade had let her see what was intended.  
  
"You and I have spoken like this before, Sara. The Witchblade has selected you, and rightly so. You had rejected my servitude before, but I fear it may not be the right choice if we are to protect our future.and the future of others." He hesitated before continuing. "In another time, I had been willing to die to protect you.but with my death, I fear a greater evil comes your way. Neither of us can afford to let that happen again. This I know."  
  
Images of Nottingham being gunned down in a warehouse invaded her mind compliments of the Witchblade yet again. Sara could hear the sincerity in his voice but was confused with his meaning and the images surging through her memory. "Let's just say I am a little skeptical, Nottingham. It is true you have shown me things I do not understand. And this piece of jewelry does not seem to want to leave me. This is all too much too soon." She pleaded.  
  
"I know how you feel, Sara. I have always been taught to trust no one.only myself. It has helped me survive until now.but I find I must trust you.and you must find it in yourself to trust me if we are to succeed in changing the outcome neither of us wants repeated." He continued, peering earnestly into her eyes. "We are strangers to each other, yet we have known one another in a past life.maybe many other lifetimes."  
  
As he said this, the Witchblade made its magical presence felt. She was transported to an ancient medieval time of knights and chivalry. Was this just a by-product of seeing Nottingham fighting with a long sword today? As if in a dream, she was making passionate love to a nobleman as they lay entwined in a field of golden barley. The smell of the earth and the harvest mingled with the scent of their lovemaking so vividly. Her fingers entangled in the wavy dark hair of her lover, clutching him closer to her lips in an impassioned embrace. The weight of his body on top of hers sent chills down her spine and rippled along her flesh. Breathlessly, her mystery paramour pulled his lips from hers to look upon her face, flushed in the midst of their desire. The face of her lover was Ian Nottingham. Reluctantly, she wrestled herself free of his visage, desperately fighting to bring herself to the present, but not without flashing to Nottingham in a suit of armor and the sounds of battle. The image passed just as quickly as it had arrived. Nottingham himself was unceremoniously brought back into the present, as was she. He seemed disoriented, becoming more grounded as he found her eyes.  
  
"You see, Sara. I have had these images in my mind, off and on, since I had first met you at the museum. I am equally as certain Irons has no knowledge of this.and I am not inclined to share it with him." He added. "This is why it has become more difficult for me to serve two masters.for I have no desire to serve anyone but you."  
  
" I appreciate what you have risked to tell me all of this. I need time to think. Would you give me some time, Ian?" She replied. He considered her statement, nodded, and bid her good evening after grabbing his coat. She watched him leave her building from the fire escape off her living room window. As if he knew she was there, he turned and looked up at her. He raised his right hand in a simple gesture of farewell, then was gone.  
  
Sara knew Nottingham had risked much and did not doubt his sincerity. There was a lot to think about. She needed to know more about the Witchblade and why she was chosen to wield it. She also knew she would sleep little tonight.maybe even looked forward to reliving her escapades in the barley. One thing was for certain; she now had an ally in the house that Irons built.  
  
  
  
4 Chapter 4  
  
Kenneth Irons brooded in the Great Room by the fiery hearth. He expected to see Nottingham after his late afternoon appointment but his minion was noticeably absent. He neglected to inform the house staff of his plans for the evening. Irons resented not knowing. With the beating Nottingham had endured earlier, Irons had expected to find him sleeping it off. The sound of the front entrance reverberated down the corridor announcing the return of his prodigal servant just past eleven. Nottingham had been spending many unexplained hours apart from Irons' control of late. It was beginning to annoy Irons.  
  
Nottingham reluctantly returned to the Irons estate. His mind was filled with the sweet smells of Sara's apartment and spicy Thai noodles. The wine and pain medication had intoxicated him; maybe Sara had more to do with that feeling. He could still feel her lips on his. The sound of her voice was enticing. He had wanted to stay but she needed time to think. He understood perfectly. Being with her made him feel complete, as if he belonged somewhere. Tranquility enfolded him while they were together, but being apart from her made him feel weak and vulnerable. He needed his edge back to survive the life Irons had chosen for him, and that he had willingly partaken. As he crossed the threshold of the library, he heard his name being called.  
  
"Ian. Please join me." Irons beckoned.  
  
Nottingham halted abruptly and took a deep breath, then reversed course back to the library door. "Yes, Master. What do you require of me?" He asked, as he assumed his submissive pose with head down, avoiding eye contact with his provider.  
  
"Where have you been? You did not inform anyone of your plans for the evening." Irons stated harshly.  
  
"I wanted time to myself. I did not think it was anyone else's concern where I was." Ian replied.  
  
"You have been spending a lot of time by yourself lately. Don't think I haven't noticed. In the future, clear such time with me." Irons demanded. Nottingham knew he would do no such thing. He would find some way to be out from under Irons' influence. He turned to leave.  
  
"How is your back, young Nottingham?" Irons did not seem the least bit apologetic. His comment was not made out of concern but intended to remind Nottingham of his earlier abuse and the authority Irons would not relinquish.  
  
"Fine, sir. Is that all?" His jaw tightened with the unspoken resentment.  
  
"I asked you to join me. Keep me company." Irons commanded. He would not be pacified.  
  
Nottingham slowly stepped towards the leather wingback chair where Irons was seated, removed his coat gingerly, then sat on the edge of the nearby sofa. He could not get comfortable. His back was beginning to stiffen and burn with the medication wearing off. Before Ian had entered the mansion's front door, however, he had taken one last pain pill for the evening. It would be working soon enough. The only redemption to this interruption from Irons was the warmth from the blazing fireplace as it spread across his face and hands still cold from the night air.  
  
Irons watched his faithful servant with interest. He had noticed the growing independence in Nottingham. The beating today served two purposes; to make a point with Ian that he was clearly still his master; and to demonstrate his command over those that worked for him to Ms. Pezzini. He was actually quite pleased with himself.  
  
"Remove your shirt. I want to assess the damage." Irons order was so matter-of-fact as if he were inspecting property. Perhaps he was.  
  
Without words, Nottingham looked into Irons eyes for a brief instant, pleading to be dismissed, but was met with an arrogant smirk from Irons. Nottingham slowly unbuttoned his shirt and removed it, letting it fall to the floor. He turned his back towards Kenneth Irons and knelt at his feet, head bowed, as he had done his whole life. The skin on his back was inflamed and was warm to the touch from the lacerations. The glow of the fire dimly lit the raised welts. The medication was starting to take effect, making his head feel heavier by the minute. Stiffness and pain was being replaced with numbing relief. He closed his eyes and drifted off, jerking his head up as he forced himself to stay awake. Pleased with his handiwork, Irons began to touch and prod the deepest cuts to get a rise out of his faithful servant. Each unwanted touch caused Nottingham to wince in pain and catch his breath.  
  
"You realize this is all your fault. I think you have forgotten how to serve your master without question." Irons stated coldly, sucking the warmth from the room.  
  
Nottingham turned his head toward Irons registering his amazement then quickly regained his composure. He bowed his head without a word.  
  
"Lay down on the sofa while I get some ointment for your cuts. I'll be back shortly." Irons left the room.  
  
Nottingham did as he was told. His face turned towards the warmth of the fire. The room filled with the earthy smell of wood burning, sounds of the crackling blaze, and the rhythm of a grandfather clock in the corner. He drifted off to a sound sleep thinking of Sara. He did not hear Irons return.  
  
Irons knelt by young Nottingham as he lay sleeping. He dabbed small amounts of salve on the cuts, careful not to wake his charge. He gently pulled back a strand of Ian's hair that had fallen across his cheek. Nottingham was as close to family as Irons would ever have. He had many servants but this one was special. This one knew all his faults and his secrets and did not pass judgement or betray him. Irons knew Nottingham would give his life for him if asked. That kind of loyalty was invaluable. This newly found independence scared Irons. That was why he could become so enraged with Ian. He could not imagine his life without young Nottingham in it.  
  
"Sleep well, Ian. I am sorry." Irons whispered the words, then departed the room, turning off all lights, leaving only the glow of the fire to guide him.  
  
"I know, father. I know." Nottingham responded without opening his eyes, with full knowledge Irons had not heard his reply. 


End file.
